


Before Sunrise

by pissed_off_grape



Category: Rammstein
Genre: Drinking, Feelings Realization, Fluff, Friendship, Hotels, M/M, Pre-Slash, Reise Reise era I guess, Sharing a Room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:28:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23248495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pissed_off_grape/pseuds/pissed_off_grape
Summary: Till gets very drunk, and some un-spoken words may be spilled... in his own subtle way.
Relationships: Richard Kruspe & Till Lindemann, Richard Kruspe/Till Lindemann
Comments: 2
Kudos: 35





	Before Sunrise

**Author's Note:**

> I originally posted this on DeviantArt in 2014.

Richard had not had half as much alcohol as Till at this point. It had only been the two of them to go to the bar, after the band had returned to the hotel in the middle of the night after their usual kind of after-party. Till had insisted to go, and since Richard had been the last one to protest, he had been forced to come with him, Till begging him to keep him company. After finishing his absolute final beer of the night in the hotel’s bar room, the guitarist had called it a night and finally – after much discussion – had dragged Till along with him. The lead singer had had quite enough already.

Despite the smoking ban, Richard did not bother lighting another cigarette, as he and Till arrived at their floor in the elevator and headed down the hallway. The guitarist smoked with one hand, the other stuck in his pocket. He could hear Till mumbling drunkenly beside him, taking some heavy steps in his black boots.

“Have I ever told you that you are my best friend, huh, Richard?”

Till’s question came as a bolt from the blue, and Richard looked at him briefly, saying:

“No. No, you didn’t, Till, but thanks.” He knew it was a drunken man speaking, so he did not put that much into his words. The lead singer always said stupid things, when he was wasted and in total lack of sleep.

“I mean it!” Till burst out, grinning at the guitarist with glassy eyes.

“Yes, I got it,” Richard said, blowing some smoke, smirking just slightly.

“’Cause you’re always there.” Till poked him limply.

“Yes, I am,” Richard smiled at the lead singer.

“You’re always there, playing your little guitar, and you’re so good at it!”

Doing a poor imitation of the guitarist on air guitar, Till laughed, and if it had not been for Richard to grab hold of his upper arm, the lead singer would have fallen on his face. And this made Till laugh even louder.

“You’re crazy,“ Richard chuckled, “and drunk. People are sleeping.”

Mumbling something that Richard could not exactly make out, Till laid a hand on his bandmate’s shoulder. Richard smiled briefly.

“I like you, Reesh,” the lead singer said dreamily and wrapped one of his muscular arms around the guitarist’s shoulder.

Richard shook his head at that horrible nickname he had been given, though he could not help grinning.

“I’m very fond of you, too, Till,” he said. He could feel the lead singer putting some of his weight on him, and he decided to wrap his arm around Till’s torso in order to keep his balance. Now, he could seriously smell the alcohol in the lead singer’s breath.

“You’re so pretty,” Till giggled, as if it was the most normal thing to say – as if he was talking to a girl.

Richard just frowned and took a drag.

All of a sudden, without seeing it coming, he was forced up against the wall by Till. Even in a drunken state, the lead singer knew how to use his strength and dominating behavior.

Richard sighed and looked deeply into Till’s bright eyes for a moment, waiting. The lead singer had him locked in with an arm on each side of his head.

“What is it?” the guitarist asked simply, turning his head to take another drag on his cigarette.

Smiling, Till just studied his friend’s face for a while.

“Till, you’re creeping me out,” Richard said lowly, puzzled looking into his eyes. “Come on, the room is right there.” He made a nod to his right, and Till’s head turned in the direction.

“Can I come with you?” he asked, looking nervous in some way.

“It’s your room, too, remember?” The guitarist almost got a little concerned at the lack of sense in Till’s head at the moment.

“Right,” Till breathed, as he nodded.

There was a moment of silence.

“Till?” Richard asked.

“Yes?” Till looked confused.

“Will you let me go?” The guitarist obviously referred to the two giant arms on each side of him. 

Obeying, Till withdrew his arms in a disappointed manor. Richard went for the door to their room, fumbling in his pocket for the key. The last bit of his cigarette hung loosely between his lips, as he unlocked the door. Putting out the cigarette in an ashtray on a table near the front door, he sensed that Till followed him into the room hesitatingly.

“I call the bathroom,” the guitarist said after a heavy yawn, while he took off his black leather jacket. He heard the front door closing, and he did not offer Till one look, before he walked off.

Once in the bathroom, Richard did not hesitate one second, as he turned on the water in the shower and then removed all of his clothes. He tried to hurry, but his intoxicated and exhausted state made it difficult. Finally undressed, he could step into the shower, enjoying the feeling of hot water pouring over his feet. He went all in immediately, closed his eyes and let the water run down his face, soaking his spiky hair. He always did this before going to bed after many hours of concert and parties.

When he had washed himself completely, he grabbed a gray towel and briefly dried himself off before wrapping the towel around his waist, as he stepped out of the shower. The steam had coated the mirror by the sink in small drops of water, and the guitarist wiped some of them away with his palm.

He studied himself. There was still a bit of eyeliner left over under his tired eyes. He smudged it away using an index finger and then ran a hand through his now dripping hair.

Tapping his foot to a rhythm in his head, he found his toothbrush and toothpaste and started brushing his teeth.

As he looked himself in the mirror, Till’s words repeated themselves in his mind:

_“You’re so pretty.”_

Richard did not even know, why he thought of that sentence so much. Till was drunk, only speaking words he would not even remember in a matter of hours. Drunken Till was such an amusement to Richard that he found himself smiling at his reflection in the mirror.

Realizing that he had been a bit absent, he spit in the sink and rinsed his mouth. He then removed his towel, drying up his body even more and put on some underwear and a black T-shirt that he had left on the table the day before.

He left the bathroom barefooted, still using the towel to dry his hair a bit more.

When he switched off the light and stepped into the kitchen, he stopped and listened closely. Everything was completely silent. He started moving through the kitchen towards the living room which was in fact also the bedroom. On his way, he noticed through a window that the sun already created a bit of light on the sky, making it not pitch-black anymore but dark blue.

“Till?” he called carefully.

With the towel still in his hand, Richard discovered the lead singer lying on _his_ bed. The guitarist sighed despondently, sort of annoyed.

But then he found himself walking all the way up to his bandmate’s side, studying him. Still wearing all of his clothes and even his boots, Till lay flat on his stomach, his arms sprawled out on each side of him. His feet were hanging over the edge of the bed, indicating that the lead singer had practically thrown himself onto the bed, obviously too drained to care about anything. With his long bangs in front of his closed eyes, his face was somewhat pressed into the sheets, as he had turned his head, now creating a hilarious pout and snoring softly.

Richard held a fist to his mouth, smirking. The sight was almost too cute for his liking.

He lingered for a while, then moved to the foot of the bed, where he dropped the towel and started removing Till’s boots. Actually, he was too tired to take care of something like this, but he could not help himself. He felt somehow responsible.

Once the boots were removed from Till’s feet, Richard realized that the lead singer’s upper body was only covered by a short-sleeved T-shirt, and he turned around a couple of times in searched for a blanket. He grabbed one that was neatly folded up on the backrest of an armchair in the corner, before he unfolded it and slowly covered Till up in it. What Richard could tell was that the lead singer did not notice anything and was sound asleep throughout the process.

Richard admired the sight before him for a short time, then – with a smile – whispered:

“Sleep well, Till.”


End file.
